Authors: Shirley Kennedy
“
We leave at dawn,” Abner announced. “Either come or don’t come, but you’d better remember Noah’s my son, and he’s coming with me.” With a final look of scorn, he turned and stalked away.
Sick at heart, Lucy considered her choices. If she stayed with the wagon train, she ‘d worry herself sick over both Noah and Martha. If she went on the shortcut, she’d face God-knows-what dangers, plus she’d be entirely under Abner’s domination. Two choices, both impossible.
Yet, she must chose, and before dawn tomorrow.
By late afternoon, she still hadn’t made up her mind. Then Noah came to her, complaining that his stomach hurt and his head ached. She placed her hand on his forehead and found it burning hot. After she put Noah to bed in the wagon, she sent for Inez.
After examining Noah, the midwife shook her head. “Looks like mountain fever. Some call it typhoid. There’s lots of it going around. Nothing I can do, I’m afraid. I wish there were a doctor around, but of course there’s not.”
“
Will he be all right?” Lucy held her breath, waiting for her answer.
Inez looked her square in the eye. “Mountain fever is a deadly disease. From what I’ve heard, it’s swept through many of the wagon trains and taken lives. They say about one in eight who are stricken die.”
“
Is there anything I can do?”
“
Nothing besides keep him warm and give him lots of water. He shouldn’t be moved. I’ll go ask William Applegate to hold up the wagon train, at least another day.”
Lucy told Inez about Abner and the shortcut.
“
Then I’ll go speak to Abner. When he hears about Noah, surely he’ll change his plans.”
Only minutes later, Inez returned, tense lines creasing her forehead. “I tried to dissuade him, but he says he’s leaving tomorrow regardless and taking Noah, mountain fever or no.” Her face clouded with concern. “Abner said you weren’t going. Is that true? I only ask because Noah will need a lot of care. You know Martha can’t help much in her condition.”
That settled it. Lucy put aside the despair in her heart and made the only decision she could. “No, it’s not true. Tomorrow I’ll be leaving on that shortcut with Abner.”
Inez’s face flooded with relief. “Bless you. I’ll remember you in my prayers each day.”
“
Don’t forget.” Lucy had a wry smile. “I’m going to need them.”
Later that day, she was packing the wagon when Henry appeared. The shy young man removed his hat and started twisting it in his hands. “Uh, Mrs. Schneider, may I have a word with you?” She nodded. “I won’t be going on the shortcut, ma’am. Mister Applegate has hired me on. He’s needed a replacement since Carl got drowned, and ... uh, frankly, he’d be easier to work for than Mister Schneider. I sure hate to leave you, ma’am.”
Another disappointment. She had counted on steady, reliable Henry to help her through the grueling days ahead. She didn’t blame him for leaving, though. Abner’s overbearing, self-righteous attitude made him a hard man to work for. She patted his arm reassuringly. “Why, that’s fine. I don’t blame you at all, and I wish you well.”
Henry looked greatly relieved. “At least you’ll have someone to drive the second wagon. Mister Schneider told me he’s talked the Butler Brothers into coming along.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “The Butler Brothers? Are you sure?”
“
Yes, ma’am. Mister Schneider told me so.”
“
Uh, yes, of course.” Her mind was totally distracted. Along with everything else, now she’d have to put up with those three rowdy, hard-drinking lowlifes.
In a miserable state of mind, she continued making preparations for their departure. Where had Clint gone? Why wasn’t he here when she needed him so desperately? She had so much to tell him, whether he wanted to hear or not. Now she’d never have the chance.
She felt such an acute sense of loss she couldn’t imagine she’d ever be happy again, but she kept reminding herself she mustn’t break down in despair. Noah needed her. Martha needed her. She must carry on.
Early the next morning, four wagons set forth on the Thompson Cutoff: the Butler Brothers’ two wagons, followed by Abner and Martha’s wagon, and Lucy’s wagon, driven by Erasmus Butler, at the rear. Lucy wasn’t happy about the proximity of the smelly and disgusting Erasmus, but at least he left her free to tend to Noah, who lay pale and feverish in the back.
From the very first, the cutoff proved to be a nightmare, even worse than Charlie predicted. With each passing hour, every jolting turn of the wheels, Lucy’s concern increased. Heavy rain the night before had turned parts of the trail into such a bog that one of the Butlers’ wagons immediately sunk into the muddy mess and got stuck. Lucy felt like covering her ears so she couldn’t hear the uncouth brothers’ grunts and curses as they strained to push it out.
The faint trail—what there was of it—grew rougher and steeper as they went along. To make matters worse, Noah’s fever shot higher. “Ma, my stomach hurts,” he kept crying in a weak little voice. “My head hurts, too.”
She kept applying cool cloths to his forehead, caring for him as best she could in the back of the cramped, bouncing wagon, but his plaintive cries grew ever more heart-wrenching. To make matters worse, whenever she checked with Martha, the pregnant woman complained her stomach felt queasy, a result of the wagon’s constant lurching and pitching. Lucy didn’t bother to complain to Abner. He wouldn’t do a thing except quote some useless scripture.
When the wagons finally got beyond the mud, they encountered a hill so steep the oxen hadn’t the strength to pull them to the top. Lucy was in the wagon tending to Noah when Abner poked his head in. “You and Noah must get out and walk. Everything’s got to be unloaded or we’ll never reach the top.”
Was he insane? Lucy pointed at Noah, lying pale and limp on the mattress. “Take a look at him. He’s terribly sick. Feel his forehead; it’s burning hot. You expect him to get out and
walk
?”
Abner’s gaze lingered over his nephew until he finally seemed to realize how sick the boy was. “Very well, let him stay in the wagon. You must come out and help us push. Martha, too.”
Seething with resentment, Lucy climbed from the wagon and helped poor Martha down.
If only Father could see his elegant, pampered daughter now!
Lucy was becoming ever more resentful. If she were home, at this very minute she might be having a lovely visit with her sister or perhaps the seamstress might be fitting her for a new gown. No! Here she was, wearing an old, patched dress, expected to push wagons up hills while enduing the obscene curses of the Butler Brothers who had to be three of the crudest men on the face of the earth. Worst of all, forced to obey the commands of a man who treated her as if she were no better than an animal.
All my own fault
. If she hadn’t been so anxious to escape Pernelia, she would never have rushed into marriage with Jacob. He would’ve married someone else, and then
she
—whoever she was—would be the miserable woman in the middle of nowhere, all sweaty and gasping for breath, pushing a wagon uphill with all her might, ears burning from the vile curses of the Butler Brothers. Oh, life was not fair!
Where was Clint when she needed him? Clint, who as much as said he loved her?
When she stopped to brush away a tear, she heard Martha puffing and panting beside her. “The baby just kicked me hard.” The poor woman put her hand over her stomach. “Oh, Lucy, I’m so scared. What if it comes early, out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Seeing Martha’s distress jarred Lucy to her senses.
I think I have it bad
.
I must stop feeling sorry for myself.
“You’re going to be fine.” She addressed Martha’s bulging stomach, “You’re going to be fine, too, little one. Don’t you dare decide to come out and see the world just yet! You’ve got to wait till we get to California.”
They finally reached the top. Despite her new resolve, Lucy took one look ahead and her heart sank. Now they would have to go down again on a trail so steep the wagon would overrun the poor oxen unless they pulled on ropes to hold it back.
Ahead, another hill, even steeper, and then another.
For the rest of the grueling day, Lucy alternated between caring for Noah and lending what strength she possessed to pushing the wagons up impossibly steep hills, then pulling on ropes to ease them down. At least Abner had relented after his wife collapsed in a heap, announcing she couldn’t go another step. He allowed her to rest in Lucy’s wagon where she could keep an eye on Noah.
By late afternoon, exhausted, they came upon a flat, grassy area beside a creek and made an early stop for the day. Lucy checked on Noah. He wasn’t better, but at least he seemed no worse. She started to build a campfire. “How far have we come today on this wonderful cutoff of yours?” she asked Abner as he unhitched the oxen. After such a difficult day, she couldn’t hide her sarcasm.
“
Far enough.”
His curt answer so incensed her she knew she’d better keep her mouth shut. Otherwise, she’d surely let loose her scathing opinion concerning his heartless inconsideration for Noah and Martha, as well as his utterly stupid decision to leave the wagon train. She wagered he already knew. The worried knit in his brows told her he was beginning to realize taking the shortcut was a big mistake.
To make a horrible situation even worse, The Butler Brothers, who had built their own campfire nearby, were already passing a jug around. What lowlifes, all three. Huge, burly Sam with his tangled beard. Snaggle-toothed Emery. Sly-eyed Erasmus. She suspected they hadn’t bathed since the start of the journey, if then. It seemed highly unlikely that their rag-tag, smelly clothes had ever seen soap and water.
A burst of drunken laughter caused Abner to scowl in the direction of the slovenly three. “Ephesians five, Verse eight. Be not drunk with wine, where is excess; but be filled with the Spirit.’ ”
“
Corn liquor’s the only spirit they’re interested in,” she snapped. He started to reply, but she cut him off. “You have no right to complain. You
knew
what they were like before you started.”
He made no reply, which indeed was for the best because she was so disgusted and distraught she would’ve pounced on anything he said.
Later that night, when Lucy laid her hand on Noah’s forehead, she found it alarmingly hot. Each breath seemed more labored than the last. Helplessly, he looked up at her with fever-dulled eyes. “Ma ... I don’t ... feel good.”
“
I’m going to get you well, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.” This was Abner’s fault. How could he have allowed his own nephew to be bounced around all day in the wagon, knowing the boy was so ill? Why had Abner insisted on this insane shortcut in the first place? Now was not the time for recriminations. She waited until she calmed down, then went to Abner’s wagon. “You both had better come. Noah has taken a turn for the worse.”
During the following hours, Lucy fought to bring down Noah’s fever by bathing his heated body with cold water from the creek. Martha and Abner, Bibles and prayer books in hand, sat beside the boy and prayed.
Their efforts failed. Around midnight, Noah fell into a coma. By dawn, the beautiful little boy Lucy had grown to love so dearly had slipped away.
Next morning the Butler Brothers dug Noah’s grave, muffling their curses, at least for a little while. “Dig it deep,” Abner ordered. “I don’t want the wolves to dig him up.”
Even through her overwhelming grief, Lucy felt disgust for Abner’s handling of his nephew’s death. At first, he’d put on a display of deep mourning, holding the dead child in his arms and weeping aloud. Now, only hours later, he’d assumed a cloak of stoic composure. Not even when he said a few, final words over the little boy’s grave did she see a trace of a tear.
“
Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”
Death, nothing but death. Her clamped lips imprisoning a sob, Lucy stood by the grave listening to Abner’s dismal words. What use were tears? How could she go on when all she wanted was to lie across her little stepson’s grave and wait for the wolves to take her?
“
We’ll leave right away.” Abner closed his Bible.
“
All right.” She felt icy calm now, beyond tears, beyond everything but a numb sorrow that left her close to complete despair. She wasn’t the only one. Martha, wan and pale, sank down beside Noah’s grave. “Where’s the end of it?” she cried in a tortured voice. “First Jacob, then Roxana, then Bessie ... Nathaniel ... Benjamin—”
“
Try not to think of it,” Lucy broke in. “You must have faith God will watch over you.” By now, she wasn’t at all sure about God, but she said what she knew Martha needed to hear. She pulled Martha to her feet. “You must be strong for your baby’s sake.”
She was pleased to see that her words had their effect, for Martha squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “For my baby’s sake.” Her voice was stronger than Lucy had ever heard it. “I shall carry on.”
They traveled all day, making little headway over an ever more difficult trail. That night Lucy lay in her wagon, trying to get some precious sleep. Outside, a wolf began to howl and was soon joined by several others. Exhausted though she was, she lay awake listening. The wolves’ mournful cries made her feel even more alone, more isolated than ever in this endless, unforgiving wilderness. She thought of her father, the house on Beacon Street, her cozy room with the sunbonnet babies quilt Mother had made that covered her snug, warm bed. She thought of dear Sarah, so far away ...